Here is another WW, even though the name is hardly appropriate any more, but it sounds cool.
I'm reading
The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck and it inspired me, even though i didn't finish it yet. I don't claim to have any insight in sociopolitical and economic matters, so i don't wish to be drawn into a discussion about it. Unless, of course, if you agree with me.
The Dates of Mathon producing 100,000 grapesEven an Evil lord needs a break from Evility every once in a while. So when you stumble upon some books, taken out of the burning cottage from (hopefully) the last literate imp in your vicinity, you decide to browse through the charred loot.
After you're done dissecting the imp you open up a book, lean back, and start reading. After a while you hang a "do not disturb" card on your door (technically, it's not a card, but the head of the imp with "do not disturb" tattood on it's forehead, but it fulfills the same function, so let's not pick nits okay?).
Many hours later, after some vigorous reading, you close the book even before the end, and inspiration comes to you:
1. Wow! These big landowners and banks sure are geniuses! At every turn, the Okies get abused, played out against each other, humiliated, starved, jailed and just generally screwed. And while they're doing that they even make tons of gold! These are men after your heart. Too bad it's just a book and not real, surely mortal men can't be thát ingenious and ruthless... Nevertheless, you start writing plans for reformation of the management of your imps.
2. Depressed, you turn down the book. Not because you can't stand the injustice anymore. No, because you feel you have met your masters in Evil, and could never hope to even come close to such perfection. Disillusioned and demotivated, you give your imps a salary, good housing and even bathroom facilities with hot water! The cries of joy and festivity from the happy crowd float through your windows, and you sink back deeper into melancholy.
3. "Yee-haw! Them here fella's sure ain't speakin' no horsepoop. They got the Holy Sperit in 'em. I got ta get me a jalopy and go a-cruisin' to the West. Take the fambly 'long and go a-lookin' for new lan'."
Then you remember the territory to the west is owned by a rival guild, and any trip to their land would soon become a trip to the bottom of the lake, with concrete shoes on (if you're lucky).
So you decide to buy a Stetson and boots and learn how to squaredance.
Possible outcomes:
1. It took some time and a lot of careful planning, but finally the changes have been executed. Expectantly you climb up to the tower overlooking your domain, happily humming dirges to yourself. But your lower jaw drops when you don't see the expected lament and misery, but a huge army of well-armed and determined imps, united in their suffering and boldened by despair. Looks like your plan worked too well. Seeing the determination and pure hatred in the imps' eyes, your henchmen desert and betray you. It seems that when you kick a man hard enough when he's down, he'll jump up again and break your nose. This will cost you a fortune to set right again, if you survive.
(reward: -100,000 gold, no army for 24 hours)2. After a while the noise from outside seems to become less exuberant, and more menacing. But you are too depressed to care, and go to bed to moan and wail.
The next morning you open the front door to get your milkbottles, and freeze in the doorframe, flabbergasted. The streets are lined with burning houses, and littered with bad-smelling corpses. Down the block a few kids are beating up an old woman, with the apparent approval of her husband of 50 years of marriage. It looks like paradise regained.
After the initial surprise you start to analyze what happened, and your eyes become misty with emotion. Apparently the imps wasted their new money in the new pub, after which they started robbing each other for more. And they broke into each others new houses, and got shot with newly-bought guns, which caused vendetta's galore. And after the pub closed they all needed to go to the new bathroom at the same time and got into fights over turns, spoiled toiletpaper and nasty smells. The result of all this now lies before you, and you realize you have just learned an important lesson: There is a world of difference between giving people what they want, and giving people what they need.
(reward: +100,000 points, the next 100 imps you buy will cost half the price for 24 hours)3. Soon after the word of your dancing gets out, the imps lose their respect for you and start to riot, demanding to be tyrannized by a professional, cursing Evil lord with horns, not by some dumbass doing silly dances with a hat. No problem there, you're happy to oblige and order the flamethrowers to suit up and get busy.
What worries you more is the message from your guild a panting courier hands over to you, after which he runs away very fast, before you get to read it and kill him. It says: "Lol! Yer one kerrazy barstud. We don' wanna be seen within' a mile of you, bad f' our reputaysjun. You are hereby kicked out of this here guild, an' don't come back no mo', ya hear! Now git!"
(reward: the only message you can type on the blackboard/announcements/mail/forum for 24 hours is "take your partner by the hand, tap tap tap, spin her round and put her back, tap tap tap")